Shadow Of Death
by HappyChaos3D
Summary: Post S3 Finale. As Sam and Bobby mourn the loss of Dean, Sam gets visions of Dean in Hell and discovers a link that could mean Dean’s salvation, or Sam’s damnation. Or it could destroy them both.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N** OK, I broke two promises I have made to myself: 1) no new chapter stories until "Consequences" and "Gallows Humor" are finished (I'll try to update both soon for those who may be following those ones) and 2) no tag for "No Rest for the Wicked" there are probably tons of them out there already, but like many, I just cannot get the episode out of my mind, so I had to write one of my own 'what happens next?' story. I haven't read many of the other ones out there, maybe one or two, so I don't know how unique mine is, but I hope it will provide something different, and if not, I hope you will stick with me on this and enjoy it anyway.

**Disclaimer**: "Supernatural" is sadly, not mine, but I do own the DVD's, and sometimes when I dream, Sam and Dean are there to keep me company.

**Summary**: As Sam and Bobby mourn the loss of Dean, Sam gets visions of Dean in Hell and discovers a link that could mean Dean's salvation, or Sam's damnation. Or it could destroy them both.

**Shadow Of Death**

By Deana W.

-0-o-0-o-0-

**Chapter One**

He screamed. He had no idea how long he had been there, lost in an endless maze of chains, suspended, and bound. Meat hooks dug into his shoulder, his side, impaled his palms, his feet and shackles bound his wrists and ankles. Thunder and lightning filled the endless void, rattling the chains and jarring the hooks that skewered his flesh. Sometimes the lightning would strike the metal links, sending bolts of electricity through him, charring his insides, but he was denied the release of unconsciousness or death.

This was death, eternal death.

He continued to scream, "Sam!"

In the distance, the swirling black clouds that painted the void seemed to dance in dark victory. More electricity pulsed through him, burning him, jarring him, killing him over and over.

"Somebody help me!" he screamed again, knowing that it was futile, no one could help him now. "Sam!" he knew Sam couldn't hear him, he knew Sam wouldn't come, he knew he was trapped forever in a place where Sam could not follow, but he screamed it anyway, "Sam!"

In his pain he focused on why he was there.

_For Sam. Because I made a deal so that Sam could live. I am here so I could save Sam. Because of me, Sam is safe._

He held on to that thought, cherished it and focused on it through the unrelenting, unbearable pain. He repeated it in his mind as his mantra. And through the pain he found the slightest hint of comfort.

0-o-0-o-0

The demons outside the Fremont home left all at once, abandoning their hosts in a tornado of black fog, leaving unconscious bodies in their wake. Bobby checked his watch.

12:07

Their hasty exit could only have meant one of two things—either they won and Sam and Dean would be coming out any moment, or they lost and Dean was dead, maybe even Sam as well. The first scenario was highly unlikely, if not impossible. The Hellhounds were relentless and would never quit, even if they managed to kill the ones sent for Dean, there would be more, there would always be more unless they could get Lilith to call them off.

He ran across the street and went inside, ignoring the former demonic hosts as they came to in a mass of confusion.

Inside the Fremont home it was quiet. Eerily quiet.

"Sam!" he called, and feebly out of hope and denial called out, "Dean?"

"In here Bobby," Sam's voice was broken and the pain in his tone told Bobby everything—they lost, Dean was dead. "Help me."

Without missing a beat Bobby followed the sound of Sam's voice and rushed into a dining room. The sight made bile rise to his throat and he swallowed hard. Ruby's body lay sprawled out and ignored on the floor, and next to her in a pool of blood and gore was Dean. Sam was holding him, sobbing gently. Dean's eyes were open, staring blankly into space, empty, lifeless. Bobby wanted to scream and cry out in mourning but instead he took a sharp intake of breath. Now wasn't the time, Sam needed him to be strong.

"Sam…"

"Help me Bobby," he cried, "call 9-1-1."

"He's gone."

"I know, but maybe we can still revive him."

"He's lost so much blood, there's not much anyone could do for him..."

Sam snapped at him, "Just do it Bobby! Don't argue with me just do it!" Then he bit his lip and stared at him beseechingly, desperation and sorrow reflected in his watery eyes, "Please," his voice broke, "please we have to try and do something."

Breaking down into a fit of sobs Sam pressed his hands against Dean's ravaged chest. "Please Dean," he cried, "Fight it. Come back."

Bobby bit his lip and discreetly wiped a tear from his eye then shrugged out of his jacket and his top flannel shirt. It was a pointless gesture, even if Dean were still alive, it wouldn't be enough to stop the bleeding, but he'd humor Sam. He handed Sam his shirt and Sam pressed it against the slashes across Dean's chest. Bobby pulled out his phone and dialed 9-1-1, reporting that he thought a wild animal had somehow gotten inside.

When he looked back at Sam, he had his forehead pressed against Dean's. His lips moved rapidly, but Bobby couldn't tell what he was saying. Sam sat up again and began to attempt CPR. Bobby closed his eyes, unable to watch.

Sam and Dean were family to him, and he couldn't bear to see one die and the other fall apart. A year ago he had seen it before with the roles reversed, but this time was harder because he knew that Dean's soul was damned for eternity. A year ago, when Sam was the one who had died, Bobby could at least take comfort in the hope that Sam's soul had been at peace. Dean couldn't. Back then, Dean had given up, shut down and surrendered when Sam was killed, and it was painful to watch, and even more painful when he discovered the price Dean paid to bring Sam back. Now that Sam was the last Winchester standing, Bobby saw the danger in Sam's mournful eyes. What lengths would Sam go to save his brother? That question terrified Bobby.

Sam was in complete denial as he tried desperately to revive Dean, despite the fact his body had been completely ravaged. There was madness in his actions, one hand tried to close his wounds, the other pumped at his heart in an attempt to start it again.

"Sam…"

"Shut up," he snapped, "shut up and let me do this!"

With his hands up in resigned surrender, Bobby backed off. Sam was like a wild animal, and it was dangerous to get too close. He glanced around the room, and blinked slowly, wary of Ruby's body. Just what exactly happened anyway? His eyes went back to Sam. He'd let Sam try the impossible, and he'd be there for him when the impossible doesn't happen.

Bobby's love for the Winchesters conflicted with his hunter's instincts. He should be securing the area, planning their next move; the danger might still be there, waiting to strike. There was a war that needed to be fought, but he couldn't, he _wouldn't_ leave Sam's side. He made that mistake before, with Dean, and the consequence of leaving Dean to be alone as he grieved Sam, was set out before him in a pool of blood. He wouldn't make the same mistake again.

Sam continued trying to revive Dean. Bobby could see exhaustion settling in, but Sam wasn't giving any indication of it in his actions. He was relentless. "Come on Dean," he cried, "please don't do this. Come back. I need you! Please."

Bobby turned away as he tried to blink back the moisture that had been building in his eyes. He needed to stay strong, for Sam. Dean would've wanted that. With his back turned he could hear Sam counting as he continued his futile attempt at CPR, begging Dean to come back, and then finally whisper words so softly and rapidly that Bobby couldn't understand what he was saying. Suddenly the whispering stopped and Sam breathed, "Shit! Bobby!" a frantic laugh escaped him, "I don't… Fuck! I don't believe it…he's got a heartbeat. Help me!"

Bobby quickly wiped his eyes and spun around, practically falling to their side. "What the hell…?" Shit. The kid did it. He restarted Dean's heart. How he did it was a mystery, but he did it, though Dean was clearly not out of the woods yet. Bobby doubted the weak beating of his heart would last longer than a minute, but Sam had somehow awakened a slight hope, and an equal amount of dread. Bobby couldn't see how anyone could possibly suffer that much damage, and lose that much blood and still have a heartbeat. The fact that Dean had a pulse was unnatural and while he was glad that there was still a glimmer of hope, no matter how faint, an uneasy question surfaced in Bobby's mind. _What did you do Sam? What did you do?_

He shook his head, and went to business. Pressing his shirt, saturated with blood, against Dean's chest Bobby glanced at Sam who smiled wearily. Sam's hands, drenched in blood, were shaking and his eyes suddenly rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed.

"Sam!" Bobby gasped. Sam didn't move. Bobby wanted to check on him, suddenly wondering if Sam suffered injuries that Bobby didn't see at first. It was possible not all the blood belonged to Dean; there was so much of it—on the floor, on Dean, on Sam that it was impossible to tell. For all he knew, Sam could be seriously hurt. Bobby let go of Dean to check on Sam just as the paramedics arrived.

What happened next was a blur. Bobby was taken aside for questioning as the Winchesters were tended to. Normally Bobby Singer was always at the ready for dealing with the police, but this time there were too many bodies around, some old, some fresh and the plight of the Winchesters left him numb. He didn't know what to tell them, and that became his feeble story. He said that they were in the neighborhood, they heard screaming and he sent his nephews to check things out, when they didn't come back out he went in to investigate.

"Stupid I know. Should'a called you first but… I thought it was just a domestic dispute," Bobby concluded as a young rookie police officer took notes. Even as he told the story he knew it was a weak one at best. If Sam was OK, Bobby guessed that they'd both be called in for further questioning; there were too many holes in his story. Talking to a rookie helped with that issue because of her inexperience, but when the officer did ask questions highlighting those holes, Bobby would turn the tables and play the shocked card.

"I don't know, it all happened so fast… my nephews, are they going to be all right? There was so much blood…" For good measure, Bobby produced a few tears, which wasn't hard to do because they were real. He knew that Dean was gone—even if his heart was beating, Dean was essentially dead, and he had no idea what was wrong with Sam, whether he was badly injured, merely exhausted, or maybe a mixture of both.

He wasn't sure how he'd tell Sam that they'd most likely need to high tail it out of town before the morning light—that is if Sam wasn't badly hurt. Whatever the case, Sam wouldn't be willing to leave his brother, even if it was just his brother's body.

Luckily the Fremonts helped him out. As it turned out, Mr. Fremont was a pillar of the community, and his reputation gave his statement credibility, despite the holes. They understood that no one would believe the truth in a million years, and probably didn't want to come off as crazy so they told the police that they had been held hostage for a week and Bobby, Sam and Dean had come and saved them. In a way, that was the truth.

Hours later, after dealing with the police who were now on the hunt for four non-existent men and their vicious black attack dog, Bobby found himself in the ER waiting room at the local hospital. Sam had joined him later, shell-shocked. He staggered into the waiting room, pale-faced. Dean's blood still stained his clothes. Bobby stood up and met him halfway and put his arms around Sam who slowly, mechanically returned the gesture.

"You OK?"

Sam nodded slowly, "She couldn't hurt me."

"Ruby?"

"Lilith."

Bobby tried to hide his surprise at that revelation. Lilith couldn't hurt Sam? What the hell did that mean? How was that even possible? Instead he asked, "What happened?"

"Lilith took over Ruby, released her Hellhounds, tried to kill me but couldn't," Sam whispered in a dull monotone. He began to shake, looking like he was on the verge of collapse and Bobby held him steady, guiding him to the chairs and helping him sit down.

"Any word on Dean?" Bobby asked.

Sam shook his head.

Bobby sat next to Sam and squeezed his shoulder in comfort and together they sat, silent and unnaturally still.

It was a few hours more before a doctor came along. "Sam Johnson?" he asked, his expression serious and deliberately calm. Bad news was evident on his professionally stoic face.

Sam nodded.

"I'm Dr. Cheng, one of the doctors who worked on your brother this evening."

"How is he?" Bobby asked when he realized Sam had yet to find his voice.

"I'm sorry. He's suffered massive blood loss, severe internal damage, and we've done our best to repair it…" Dr. Cheng went on to explain what happened in the OR. Most of it flew past Bobby as the doctor's account of Dean's surgery faded into the background. Bobby could only concentrate on the careful and calculated mannerisms of the doctor, and the fact that Dr. Cheng began with an apology. It finally occurred to Bobby somewhere in the middle of the doctor's speech that he was deliberately avoiding the most important thing.

"But he's alive?" Bobby asked.

Dr. Cheng hesitated, and both Sam and Bobby inhaled sharply, preparing for the worst. His hesitation could not be a good sign. "We have him on life support right now, but it's doubtful he'll last the night and even if he does, it's even less likely he'll wake up. Lack of blood and oxygen has given him substantial brain damage…"

"He'll wake up," Sam interrupted, speaking for the first time in hours, his voice rough, "Dean's a fighter, he'll wake up."

"Mr. Johnson, I don't know how to tell you this, but even if he were to wake up, he won't be Dean anymore. He won't recognize you, he'll never regain speech or motor skills, he…"

"I don't care," he hissed. "I know where you're going with this and the answer is no."

"Mr. Johnson?"

"If anyone dares to pull the plug on him, I will sue you for everything you're worth. I was a law student at Stanford, I know a lot of lawyers, good lawyers, powerful lawyers and I will do it so help me, even if it has to drag on for decades I will do it. You're keeping him on the life support." Sam's voice was hard and cold.

Dr. Cheng's shoulders dropped, "You say your brother's a fighter? He strikes me as someone who was strong, energetic and full of life. Do you really want him to live out the remainder of his life a vegetable? Hooked up to machines, utterly dependant? Would that be fair to him?" He was soft, gentle and sympathetic, but there was a hint of irritation lacing his tone of voice.

"When he finds his way back," Sam hissed threateningly, "he'll need a place to go."

"Can we see him?" Bobby asked, intervening.

Dr. Cheng nodded, "We're just finishing up with him, I'll send someone to get you when he's ready for visitors."

"Thank you," Bobby said and Sam sagged in his seat, exhausted both mentally and physically. Bobby squeezed Sam's shoulder, smiling weakly at him.

"He'll find his way back," Sam declared.

"I know," Bobby replied, though he doubted it. He glanced at Sam's sullen face and again wondered, _What did you do Sam?_

When a different doctor came to get them, Sam was again given the option of pulling the plug on Dean. This time instead of saying it was unlikely he'd wake up, they were told that he would never wake up. Sam once again refused angrily. When they reached the door to Dean's room the doctor motioned Bobby to halt.

"Immediate family only," she said.

Sam shook his head, "Bobby is family." He had a dangerous look in his eyes that frightened even Bobby for a second.

"OK," she nodded, she regarded Sam warily, her eyes conveyed both sympathy and unease, "my mistake."

"You sure you don't want some time alone?" Bobby offered.

Sam glanced at Bobby with lost and empty eyes, "'S OK Bobby. You should be able to come in. I know you'd want to see him."

Bobby replied with a small smile and a nod.

They went inside and stopped at the sight of Dean. He was hooked up to several machines, some Bobby knew what they were for, some Bobby didn't know. He was hooked up to a couple of IV's, one to give him vital fluids, one to replenish his lost blood. His face was pale, he didn't have a gown or a shirt on, but it wasn't necessary. His torso was wrapped like a mummy, bandages covered his shoulders, were wrapped around his upper arms, and some revealed spots of red and while he couldn't see it under the blanket, Bobby figured that his left leg was in a similar state. Bobby imagined Dean had too many stitches to count. He vaguely remembered hearing the doctor mention something about skin grafts.

"Shit," was all Bobby could say.

They stood silently for a while, watching Dean in his eternal sleep, listening to the sounds of the ventilator and heart monitor. Bobby watched Sam's jaw quiver as he bit his lip and sat down beside his brother. He reached out for Dean, but hesitated, as though unsure of where to touch him that wouldn't hurt. Bandages were almost everywhere and both his hands had IV's attached. Sam settled for resting his hand just above Dean's wrist.

"Dean," Sam whispered, "Hang on. Just hang on for me OK?"

Bobby felt dirty being there. He sensed Sam wanted to have a private moment with his brother. "Why don't I get us some coffee?" Bobby offered.

"Sure," Sam shrugged indifferently.

"I'll be right back then, OK?"

"Yeah."

Bobby nodded and stepped out. _Please kid, don't do anything stupid while I'm gone._

Bobby made it all the way to the elevator when suddenly, without warning he lost it, and the emotion he had been trying to hide for Sam's sake escaped mercilessly.

"Sir?" a nurse asked, "Are you all right?"

"What do you think?" Bobby sassed through his tears. Sam and Dean were not technically his family, but he meant what he said. The Winchester boys were his family. He had known them since Sam was two years old and he had been considered their uncle until his falling out with John. "I'm visiting someone in this ward so how can I possibly be all right?"

She opened her mouth to speak but the elevator door opened and Bobby hastily stepped in. Tears began to fall freely and he wiped them away frantically, but more came. His shoulders shook as he quietly mourned the fallen and the falling. Machines may be sustaining his body, but the reality was that Dean was gone, and Sam was on the verge of following, he could see it in the young Winchester's eyes.

_Keep it together old man,_ Bobby scolded himself, _now is not the time. Sam needs you. Dean needs you—remember your promise._ As the elevator took him down to the main floor, Bobby recalled the last time he had talked to Dean alone.

"Hey Bobby?" Dean had asked softly as they worked on hiding the police car with dirt and branches. Sam had gone back to fetch more branches further in the cluster of trees.

"Yeah Dean?"

"Do me a favor, will ya?"

"Anything."

"If I don't make it out alive tonight, please, promise me you'll look out for Sam. Make sure he doesn't make the same mistake I did."

"Sure thing, son."

"He's going to have a rough time coping, might even blame himself, but he shouldn't, so don't let him," Bobby noticed how Dean purposely avoided eye contact. Dean kept his eyes rooted on the ground, and Bobby wondered where Dean's mind went at that moment. Was he thinking about his impending doom? Was he worrying about what would happen to Sam? Was he thinking about the deal John made and the damaging impact it had on Dean? "Oh, and Bobby? Could you help Sam with the Impala? She needs regular maintenance, and I've shown Sam most of it but…"

Bobby chuckled softly. Of course Dean would be thinking about the Impala, but he also knew Dean was thinking about much more than that. Bobby nodded, "Of course. We'll take care of your baby."

"Thanks. For everything."

Dean glanced at Bobby with a wry grin and Bobby returned it with a pat on the shoulder.

"Look, I can't make any promises that we'll win tonight," Bobby had said, "but I'm not letting you go without a fight, and neither will Sam."

"I know."

"And Dean? Just in case, I want you to know that…"

"Ah, ah, ah," Dean shushed him, "I told Sam I don't want any socially awkward goodbyes and stuff, same goes for you Bobby."

"You're the one who started this mushy moment so just shut up and listen a second, Dean," Bobby shook his head, "I want you to know that even if we fail tonight, I'm not going to give up on you, neither is Sam. I want you to remember that, remember Sam, remember me. I mean it Dean. And I meant it when I said that you and Sam are family to me," Bobby told him, "Remember that too."

Dean only nodded thoughtfully, just as Sam joined up with them again asking how Dean could see demons.

He dried his eyes the best he could when the elevator reached the main floor. He found the cafeteria and ordered two coffees to go, and after a slight deliberation he also ordered two breakfast sandwiches. They had been waiting for so long for word on Dean's condition, daybreak had arrived and prior to midnight, they had been so busy trying to save Dean that it had been a while since any of them had eaten. Bobby doubted Sam would be very hungry though. Shit, Bobby wasn't sure he was very hungry, but it was good to have them, just in case.

With the coffees and sandwiches in hand Bobby made his way back to Dean's room. As he made his way down the hall, he concentrated on erasing all traces of emotion from his face. He would allow himself to show his sadness, but he wasn't going to let Sam see the extent of his grief, not yet, not while Sam was so broken.

Bobby wondered if Sam even realized the cold, hard, truth. Dean was dead. His body may be hooked up to machines that kept the mechanics of his body functioning, but Bobby guessed that the only reason they put him on life support in the first place was because underneath his ravaged flesh, some of his organs were harvestable. Dean was too far gone—there was no other reason to keep his heart beating.

When Bobby reached the closed door, he knocked gently, "Sam? It's me."

He waited for the go-ahead to come in, but instead he heard an anguished cry, like Sam was in terrible, physical and emotional pain. When he opened the door, Sam was on the floor beside Dean's bed, writhing in agony. One hand clutched his head, the other was reaching for the edge of Dean's bed, he was sobbing uncontrollably, blood trickled from his nose and mangled screams escaped his lips. Bobby hastily set the coffees and breakfast aside and rushed to Sam's aid, shutting the door behind him.

"Sam? Sam!"

"Oh god…I can…I see him…" he sobbed, "Gah! No! Please…Stop! Leave him alone!" he cried out, "Dean!"

"Sam," Bobby soothed, "Easy, easy. It'll be all right."_ How could things possibly be all right? _He wasn't sure how or why Sam was having a vision—from Bobby's understanding, Sam hadn't had a vision for a year, not since Yellow-eyes, but that didn't matter right then and there. Bobby knelt beside Sam, not knowing what to do. _How did Dean deal with this?_

When the vision passed, Sam fought to catch his breath. His crying didn't cease, but he shakily sank further to the floor, and held himself, seemingly unaware of Bobby's presence. Sam suddenly and uncontrollably vomited, and when he was done he cried harder, leaning his body towards Dean's bed.

Bobby noticed Sam was clutching something small in his hand. Tentatively, as though reaching to pet a wild animal, Bobby placed his hand on Sam's shoulder.

"What did you see?" Bobby asked, even though a part of him already knew. The question that went unasked though was the same question that lingered in his mind since Dean's heart impossibly started beating again. If Lilith couldn't hurt Sam, if he was having visions again, if what Ruby said about Sam's destiny held any merit then… _What did you do Sam?_

"I…I saw Dean," he cried, "in Hell." He shuddered, closing his eyes and shaking his head violently, "I saw what he sees, I felt what he's feeling…oh _god_ it hurts…he's in so much pain, and he's so alone, we have to find a way Bobby to free him, we have to!" He grasped his head, sobbing, "I can still hear him screaming."

Bobby glanced at Dean's still, artificially sustained body and then at Sam. He could see now what Sam was holding in his hand: Dean's amulet. Bobby sighed softly, noting the raw fear and hurt in Sam's eyes. He placed a firm hand on Sam's shoulder, "We'll find a way. I promise."

TBC

0-o-0-o-0

**A/N **Well, I hope you liked it so far, please tell me what you think! Remember, constructive criticism is golden, and reviews feed my muse. Please leave one, it'll only take a second. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N Wow, thank you so much for the reviews and alerts! I am truly humbled. Here is the next chapter. Please remember to tell me what you think! I crave constructive criticism. It is my drug. :P

Chapter Two

Sam led the way into Dean's room and stopped at the sight of him. Flashbacks to another time, another place assaulted his mind and he held his breath a moment as though uncertain of whether this was just a memory, or a horrible, horrible dream. He swallowed hard, wishing it _was_ a just a memory or a horrible, horrible dream, but knowing it was real. He had all year to prepare, but in the end, knowing it was coming did nothing to ease the pain or shock.

He moved beside his sleeping brother, and hesitated, unsure of where to touch him that wouldn't hurt. There wasn't much in the way of exposed skin on Dean's heavily bandaged torso and shoulders. His arms up to his elbows were exposed, but both hands were hooked up to IV's. With a sigh that almost resembled a whimper, Sam settled for gently but firmly placing his hand just above Dean's wrist in hopes that somehow their physical contact would reach him.

"Dean, hang on. Just hang on for me, OK?" he murmured quietly, pleadingly.

"Why don't I go get us some coffee?" he heard Bobby offer meekly.

Without taking his eyes off his brother's ashen and lifeless face, he gave a non-committal shrug, "Sure."

"I'll be right back then, OK?"

"Yeah," Sam replied quietly, not really sure what Bobby was really saying. He could be yelling that the building was on fire, but Sam was too numb to really notice or care. Sam flicked his eyes towards Bobby as he quietly left the room, and then at Dean's motionless body.

The steady, monotone rhythms coming from the ventilator and heart monitor was hypnotic and oddly soothing, and Sam's exhausted mind let the sounds lull him for a moment. He removed his hand from Dean's arm and rubbed his eyes, "I'm so fucking sick of this," he muttered, "I'm tired of watching you die, Dean. So please, I don't know if you can hear me, but just don't, OK? Don't die on me. You've beaten the odds before, so do it again. Come back." He said it in a tone that was less a plea than an order and he said it as though recovering from the brink of death was as easy as riding a bike.

He glanced at his brother's face, almost expecting to see his eyes flutter open, or at the very least a twitch, a sign of some sort that Dean was still there, fighting to find his way back to the land of the living, but there was nothing. His face remained still, lifeless and pale.

Dean looked worse off than he did almost two years ago, after the accident. Sam remembered standing in the doorway, listening to the steady, ominous hum of the heart monitor as the flat line told the world that his heart stopped beating, the sounds of the defibrillator charging, watching as a team of doctors worked frantically around Dean as he crashed, watching as they attempted to shock Dean back to life.

Sam knew that Dean was meant to die at that moment, but he remembered with clarity hearing something else amidst the chaos. Dean's voice. He could hear him yelling, demanding someone—a reaper as it turned out—to back off. His voice had been nothing more than a faint echo, and at first Sam had wondered if he had imagined it, but then Dean's heart began to beat again. He remembered feeling Dean's presence in the hallway shortly after, and it was a reassuring presence. Dean's body may have been failing, but his spirit was still there, fighting strong. Sometimes Sam wondered if Dean might've recovered on his own had their father not made his deal. Yes, a reaper had been after him, and as far as they knew there was no way to fight off a reaper, but Sam believed that if anyone could find a way to beat Death, it was Dean.

What seemed like a lifetime ago, after his electrocution, Roy Le Grange had chosen Dean for healing because he said God told him that Dean still had a purpose. Sam believed that Le Grange was right about that—it didn't matter if Le Grange wasn't the real deal. Dean did indeed have a purpose and Sam refused to believe that his purpose was to be dragged to Hell by hellhounds just so that Sam could live.

"You don't deserve this Dean," Sam whispered, "no one does, but you…you least of all." His voice broke into a tiny whimper.

Tears began welling up in his eyes and he choked back a sob, "Are you even here Dean? The hellhounds did a number on you, but you're still alive so you're still here, right?" He glanced around the room, trying to open his mind and sense any possible presence. He did before, the last time Dean was near death, but he couldn't feel anything this time. Why then and not now? Maybe it had to do with the fact he no longer had his psychic abilities. Or did he? Ruby said his powers were merely dormant, and Lilith couldn't hurt him. Maybe if he really concentrated he could do it.

He closed his eyes, trying with all his might to sense Dean's presence. Nothing.

"I must just be a little rusty on the whole psychic thing," Sam chuckled humorlessly. "I know you're here," he declared, even though he didn't really, and that terrified him, not knowing, but he pretended otherwise, it eased the ache in his heart, "so don't worry Dean. We'll figure something out and you'll be good as new before you know it with a few new scars to show off to the ladies, right?".

Sam knew that in theory it was impossible for Dean to still be alive, yet he was. On life support, yes, but that was a start. How Dean managed to go from being dead to not-dead was a mystery to Sam, because looking back he realized his insane attempt at reviving him those many hours ago was pointless, but he didn't care. Dean was a fighter, and he probably kicked the hellhounds' asses and found his way back. It didn't matter how or why he made it this far, all that mattered was that Dean still had a chance, however slim.

There was a knock on the door and a young volunteer poked her head in, "Are you Sam Johnson?"

He nodded.

She smiled and stepped in the room, glancing briefly at Dean, "Is he going to be OK?"

_No, he's not. _"I don't know," Sam replied.

She tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. She held something out, a plastic bag. "Anyway, I was sent here to give you your brother's things. I hope he'll be OK."

"Thanks," he replied dully. She walked towards him and set the bag on the table beside Dean's bed.

She started to leave but hesitated by the door. She paused for only a moment and then turned to Sam. "Mr. Johnson?"

"It's Sam."

"Sam," she nodded, "You need to get out of here. It's not safe."

Sam's expression darkened, "Excuse me?"

She pulled her brows together and wrinkled her nose, confused by Sam's reaction, "What?"

"What did you just say?" there was an urgency in his voice, hinting at anger and fear amidst his mourning.

"I just said that if you needed someone to talk to, I'll listen," she replied, then with downcast eyes she explained, "Look, I know you don't know me, and I don't mean to pry it's just that… I lost my brother last year. Car accident. He was in a coma for two weeks. That's kind of why I volunteer here, to help those going through what I did. Talking helps."

"That's not what you said," Sam insisted.

"Yes it is," she frowned.

"_Christo_," he hissed.

"Huh?" was the only reaction he got.

This time Sam frowned in confusion. He rubbed his tired eyes and sighed wearily, "Look, I'm sorry. I'm really tired and I guess I thought you said something else."

"Hey," she smiled softly, "It's all right."

"Listen uh, thanks for the offer, but I want to be alone right now with my brother, OK?"

"OK," she nodded, "But if you do feel like talking, I'm here twice a week, and there is a bereavement group that meets every Tuesday evening."

Sam wasn't really paying attention, "Yeah, OK."

The volunteer left and Sam heaved a sigh, turning his attention back to his brother. He thought about what the young woman said—or what he thought she said. Whether she said it or not, it was true, they weren't safe. Surely Lilith would be back soon. Then again, they were never truly safe, were they? But how could they leave? Dean was on life support, he wasn't going anywhere and Sam couldn't leave him unguarded.

He absently grabbed the plastic bag containing Dean's things and opened it. There wasn't much in there, just Dean's wallet, his ring, his amulet and car keys. He pocketed the wallet and keys and put the ring on his finger, "Don't worry," Sam said, glancing at Dean's motionless body, "I'll give them back when you wake up. I'm just keeping them safe for you. You just have to wake up though. OK? Promise me."

He carefully took the necklace Sam had given him almost twenty years ago and clutched it in his palm, "It seems kind of wrong though," he mumbled thoughtfully, "you not wearing this. I can count on my hand the number of times you weren't wearing this thing. Every time it wasn't by choice. This you should have back, but… I don't know…the doctors might take it off again and you'd kill me if I lost it."

He leaned over Dean and sniffled, debating on whether he should put the amulet on him or not. He blinked back more of the tears that wanted to resurface and with the hand not clutching onto the amulet like a lifeline, Sam cupped Dean's cheek into his palm, wanting to say more.

That's when the vision hit.

First he felt the usual sharp pain in his temples, but it was accompanied by the feeling of invisible claws tearing at him. He collapsed to the floor and his vision grabbed hold and dragged him to a different place. A dark place, filled with swirling black clouds, thunder, lightning and pain. There he could hear screaming. At first he couldn't make out what he was hearing, but as the vision became more vivid it became painfully clear.

Dean, calling his name, begging for help.

Then Sam saw him. He could see Dean, yet he could also see through Dean's eyes at the endless void surrounding him. Sam could feel the chains binding Dean, and the hooks impaling his flesh almost as though he was at the receiving end of the torture. One of the chains that trimmed the darkness broke free and lashed mercilessly and repeatedly at Dean's back, and Sam could almost feel every hit. The blows to Dean's back tossed Sam forward as he clutched Dean's bed to steady himself and tried unsuccessfully not to cry out in pain.

Sam never felt so alone, but he knew that the feeling was actually Dean's. Dean had always feared being alone, of being abandoned, and yet he was. It was the ultimate abandonment. The ultimate prison. The ultimate torture.

Dean continued to scream.

Sam couldn't stand it, so he screamed back, "Dean!"

And he could've sworn he saw Dean look up in response.

He wanted to call out again but he was suddenly pulled away from his vision and found himself back in Dean's hospital room, steadied by Bobby's grip on his shoulder. As the vision faded, so did the pain, but the screaming continued to echo in his mind.

It was Dean's voice, but he never heard Dean sound like that before, never before had he heard such anguish and terror in his voice. He had always masked it before. Only a few hours in Hell and already his walls were crumbling. But Sam sensed that while only several hours had passed, to Dean, time moved differently, and he had been there much, much longer than that already.

"We have to find a way to free him Bobby, we have to. I can still hear him screaming."

"We'll find a way, I promise."

0-o-0-o-0

The vision and the long night had exhausted Sam and it didn't take long before he passed out again in the uncomfortable chair beside Dean's bed. Bobby lingered, pacing a few times before he too found a chair and dozed off. Sam noted, as he drifted into unconsciousness, Bobby's reluctance to leave, and it gave him some comfort. The vision had left him feeling so empty and alone, and while Bobby could never fill the void Dean left behind, it helped.

But the last thought that came to him before he was completely out was the reminder that Dean was utterly alone and comfort would forever be beyond his reach. Unless Sam could save him.

When he woke up, Bobby was gone. He rubbed his eyes, and then shivered. He glanced at Dean and saw his finger twitch. It took a moment for the importance of that movement to register in Sam's brain but once it did, he leapt to his feet and rushed to Dean's side to see him stirring.

"S'mmy?" he mumbled.

"I'm right here Dean," he whispered, taking hold of his hand. "Open your eyes."

Dean licked his lips and turned his head to the side wearily.

"Help me," he whispered hoarsely, stubbornly keeping his eyes closed.

"What do you need? Do you need me to get a doctor?"

Dean shook his head fearfully, "No…" his voice sounded so weak. "No…Sammy…please…" there was panic in his voice, "Help me." He began to thrash around and Sam held him down.

"It's OK, you're safe Dean, you're safe."

"Why Sam?" Dean moaned, wincing in pain.

"Why what? Dean? Please tell me what's wrong…" Sam begged softly, noticing vaguely that Dean was no longer hooked up to the ventilator and heart monitor and life support. He wondered how deeply he slept to have missed that progress.

"Why didn't you save me?" he demanded, screaming in panic, squeezing his eyes shut tight out of terror or fury, Sam couldn't tell, "You promised! You promised you'd save me!"

"I tried Dean, I did, but… you're back now."

Dean opened his eyes, revealing oily black orbs. "And now look at what I've become!" he snapped.

Sam jumped.

"Sam?"

Sam tilted his head to see Bobby standing over him, looking tired and worried. Sam was still sitting in his chair beside Dean who was still lying prone on the bed, still hooked up to an array of machines. He breathed a sigh for no other reason than to release some of the pressure in his soul but in no way was the sigh one of relief. "It was just a dream."

"What happened?" Bobby asked.

Sam shook his head, "Nothing. I just dreamt that Dean woke up but… it wasn't him, not really." He noticed Bobby was holding a change of clothes and Sam realized he still wore Dean's blood on his clothes even though he had taken off his outer shirt. Even his undershirt had some blood on it, and the knees of his jeans were a dark crusty red.

"Here kid," Bobby said, handing him his clothes, "I took the liberty of going back for the Impala and getting you something clean to wear. You look like shit."

"Thanks," Sam muttered.

"I'm surprised they didn't give you some scrubs to wear or something."

Sam thought about that a moment and then recalled that they did offer, once they established that he wasn't hurt in the attack, merely exhausted. But he was in such shock he had declined, not really processing what they were asking. All he had cared about at the time was his brother, and that was still all he cared about. He took the clothes and rose to his feet, stretching his stiff muscles and shuffled to the bathroom to change. Once he was in the clean clothes, he took the contents of his pockets out of his bloodied jeans and transferred them to his clean pair then threw the stained jeans into the trash. His shirt could still be salvaged.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Bobby was at Dean's side, his hand rested on Dean's uninjured leg. "Hang in there, Dean," Bobby murmured, "Remember what I told you. We're not going to give up on you."

"Hey," Sam cleared his throat and Bobby turned to face Sam.

Bobby scratched the back of his head with a look of uncertainty on his features, "Listen Sam? You know we can't stay here, it ain't safe," Bobby said carefully.

Sam froze, thinking about what he thought he had heard the volunteer say. Wondering about whether it was merely a hallucination or something else. "What was that?" he asked suspiciously.

"Sooner or later, the cops are going to want to talk to you, and with your record…"

"Hendrickson 'killed' us. According to the system, Dean and I are… dead," Sam pointed out, choking on the last word.

"Yeah but it's too risky, besides, there are too many holes in our stories as it is," Bobby said, "I don't think we have too much to worry about in that end though, the Fremonts made it clear that we're not the bad guys, but we can't be too careful. They find out you're not Sam Johnson and discover that your file is wrong about you being deceased? It's game over. Besides, there's also Lilith to consider."

"So what you're saying is that we should take off and leave Dean here? Alone and vulnerable? Bobby that's…"

"That's not what I'm suggesting," Bobby interrupted, "Not exactly."

"So what then?" Sam sighed tiredly.

"We're leaving, all three of us. We're not leaving Dean behind."

"Bobby, Dean's in no condition to be moved, he's on life support for fucks sake!"

"Sam," Bobby shushed him, "You have to trust me on this one." He stole a glance in Dean's direction then back at Sam, "I also took another liberty and made a few calls."

"And…?"

"I've arranged to have him transferred to Lawrence."

"Lawrence? Why? Dean hates Lawrence, why take him there of all places?"

"A while back when you and Dean were kids, your dad and I exorcized a haunted wing in a hospital in Topeka, and one of the doctor's we saved has since then transferred to Lawrence," Bobby explained, "he's willing to help us, and so has Missouri. He knows what we do and he and Missouri are already preparing a room for him as we speak. Not only with the medical equipment he'll need, but also charms and wards for protection. They'll make sure he's protected there and he'll be well taken care of."

Sam bit his lip, as his chin quivered, threatening to release more emotion. Bobby was right, Dean would be safer in a place where he could get medical care and protection from demonic forces, a precaution that was impossible here in New Harmony, Indiana. Also, the sooner Dean was someplace safe, the sooner they could begin their search for a way to free him and hunt Lilith down. And with Missouri's psychic abilities, she'd be an asset.

Sam let the information process and he finally nodded, "OK. When do we leave?"

"First thing tomorrow morning."

0-o-0-o-0

He screamed.

He had no idea how long he had been there, lost in an endless maze of chains, suspended, bound and impaled by large rusted meat hooks. It could've been hours, days, weeks… possibly longer. Time held little meaning here.

Lightning occasionally struck the chains, jarring the hooks in his shoulder and side, electrocuting him, burning him. A rogue chain lashed against his back repeatedly and mercilessly, and every blow reverberated through him like a sound wave. He was aware of every painful sensation and more importantly, he was aware of how alone he was. It was complete and absolute.

Vaguely he remembered in another life how during his last year on earth demons said how pleased they'd be to have a go at him, to torture him and watch him suffer yet there were none to be seen. He almost wished there were demons there to taunt and torture him, anything other than the extreme loneliness. It would give him something to do other than hang there and scream. The fact he was alone made the physical anguish that much more painful.

He continued to scream, even though it was completely hopeless. No one would hear him. Even if they did, they'd either be demons relishing in his pain, or other trapped souls suffering the same fate. Screaming eased the agony, just slightly, even though it made his throat raw.

At some point in his torturous imprisonment he could've sworn he heard a voice call his name. But he only heard it once and when he didn't hear it again, he decided that it was just a trick of the mind, a newer, sicker form of torture. Sick because it was Sam's voice calling his name. For hours, (days? weeks?) he worried that Sam was down there too, trapped as well, but he knew in his heart that wasn't the case. For a second he hoped that it was Sam somehow coming to rescue him, but the dark, heavy weight Hell placed on his soul had a way of snuffing out any thought of hope. He tried to tell himself that it was better that way anyway. For Sam to come to his rescue meant he had to go to Hell himself, and that just wouldn't do.

But even then it caused more torment because he knew that any hope of rescue was impossible. He was trapped there forever.

Despite the pain, the agony and the hopelessness, he continued to scream and struggle. He stubbornly fought the soul crushing weight of Hell on his shoulders and reminded himself of why he was there.

_For Sam. Because…made a deal so that Sam could live. I am here so I could save Sam. Because of me, Sam is safe._

He repeated it in his mind using it as his mantra, and through the torment, he found the slightest form of relief.

TBC

0-o-0-o-0

A/N Well, I hope you liked that last chapter, though I'm not entirely happy with it. The plot should pick up soon. Thank you for reading and please, please, please leave a review. It makes me type faster and feeds my muse.


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